


remembering is an open wound

by smallredboy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, John Laurens Being an Asshole, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Nonbinary Hercules Mulligan, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Recovered Memories, Temporary Amnesia, Trans Alexander Hamilton, Trans George Washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Alejandro Huerta is in his senior year of high school, and one John Laurens is adamant on making him remember who he was two hundred years ago.





	remembering is an open wound

**Author's Note:**

> yeah this fic is a Lot(tm) and i love it so much. ive been working on it on-and-off for a while now and its finally done!!! its finally done. also if you missed the tags laurens is horrible on this. uwu laurens people do not interact
> 
> moonz @washingtononyourside beta'ed this and kept thinking of kin drama. sad
> 
> fills my 'amnesia' square in trope bingo, and my 'memory related' square in gen prompt bringo.
> 
> enjoy!

“I want him to remember.”

“I know.”

“You  _ don't _ want him to remember. Because you  _ killed _ him.”

Aaron grumbles and closes his Physics book and shoves it into his backpack. “I know that, John.”

John closes his Biology book and sits on the floor with Aaron for a few seconds before standing up. “I'm going to make him remember.”

“What?” Aaron immediately exclaims, standing up. “You can't do that!”

“I miss him.” He looks through a notebook of his; there are transcriptions of letters.  _ My dear Laurens _ , one starts, and Aaron resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I miss my Alex. He's— he's not the same.”

“Reincarnation is supposed to give you different experiences. Of course he's not the same.”

“But if he remembers he'll be more similar! He won't be so stuck-up, and so literal, and so, so…”

“It's been two hundred years,” Aaron says. “Move on, and let him remember in his own time.”

“We never got to be happy together,” he continues, as if he hadn't heard Aaron. “But now— it's 2015! There's gay marriage and laws and it'll all be so much better. I just need to make him remember.”

“John,” he says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Juan Lorenzo, John Laurens, dude. Listen to me.”

John turns to him, brows knitted together, lips turned into an annoyed expression. “What?”

“He hasn't remembered because he isn't ready to. He will remember in his own time.”

“We're in our senior year,” he shoots back. “I can't lose him again— he can't lose  _ me _ again.”

Aaron sighs. “You're as stubborn as I remember you.”

John plasters a smile over his face. “Thank you, darlin’.” Before Aaron can even tell him to not call him that, he slips out the door. 

* * *

“‘Lejandro.”

Alex looks up from his pile of books and notebooks. “Hey, John. What do you want?”

John paces around Alex's table in the library, brows knitted together. “Alex. Have you never… like, felt a connection to one of the dudes they talk about in History class?”

Alex raises a brow. “No? I'm not a reincarnate like you or Aaron or Mr. Washington.”

“Are you sure?” He walks closer to him. “You don't have an irrational fear of storms?”

“No.”

“You don't have a need for success?”

“I mean, yeah, but who doesn't— John, what are you trying to do?”

He can hear a kid whisper to another, and the librarian, Mr. Kennedy, raises a brow and takes his phone out of his pocket. 

John bounces his leg a little. “You are one of us, Alex. Stop lying.”

“I'm not lying. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Stop—”

A warm hand settles on John's shoulder, and he turns to see Mr. Washington, staring him down. He is even more intimidating up close than when they're in History class with him. 

“Mr. Laurens,” he says. “Stop.”

“No!” he immediately exclaims. “He won't realize who he is!”

Mr. Washington’s voice remains steady, “If he hasn't remembered, you shouldn't force him to—”

John pulls back and looks at Alex. “You are Alexander Hamilton— you're my Alexander, please, remember!”

Mr. Washington grabs him and drags him back out. Before he's pulled out of the library, he catches sight of Alex's head hitting the table and his eyes unfocusing. 

* * *

It's raining the next time John talks to Alex.

He's gotten detention for three and a half weeks because of making Alex remember, and in the classes they share Alex looks less alive. Tired. He doesn't look at him. Doesn't smile, doesn't even answer the questions Mr. Washington asks. 

A part of him thinks he fucked up— Mr. Washington tells him again and again that Alex needs support, but he doesn't listen. There's no reason why Alex needs support. His story is sad, too, abusive father and breakups and fighting and war and bleeding out in a field. And he didn't go through this state of shock. 

Alex is sitting on the outside of a café, alone. There's a book in his hands, and there's an umbrella over his head. He looks as lost as he has for these last two weeks. 

“Alexander.” John steps closer to him, smiles. “Hi.”

Alex's head snaps up, and his eyes are immediately filled with an anger he's never seen before. He struggles with words, looking at him like he's the worst thing he's ever seen, and John shrinks on himself. 

“Do you— do you fucking know—” he sputters. “Do you know what the fuck you did to me?”

John swallows his own anger, swallows the knives and the bullets and the claws. “I made you remember. I brought you back.”

“That's not what you did!” Alex exclaims as he stands up, the downpour making his hair flatten around his face. “You  _ forced  _ me to remember! I've had enough suffering in this one lifetime and I'm seventeen years old, Juan! I'm not fucking supposed to remember losing my son or losing my mom or seeing my cousin kill himself or or or—!”

“And I remembered my fucking father abusing me and my brother dying because of me and dying!”

“You remembered on your brain's own fucking terms,” Alex snarls, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, sweat and water droplets rolling down his temples alike. “I didn’t remember because it's so much to take in! You should've waited like Aaron told you to, like Washington told you to!”

“I wanted you back!” he yells, and Alex steps back, almost as if the yell is too much to take in. “I was— I  _ am _ in love with you and we never got our happy ending!”

Alex stands there, shocked. John expects him to bring him to his arms, kiss him, forgive him. Instead, tears roll down his cheeks. Angry tears, judging by how tight he clenches his fist and how hot with anger his deep brown gaze is. 

“Well, there's no happy ending this time either,” he snarls. 

John stands there, opens his mouth and tries to formulate a response. A few tears roll down his cheeks, and he places his hand over his mouth. His curls flatten down his forehead from the rain. 

“I don't love you this life, Juan. Now get the fuck away from me.”

“Alex— Alejandro—”

“Get away from me!” Alex yells, a sob escaping his mouth. 

John draws in a shaky breath and runs all the way home. 

* * *

“Mr. Huerta,” Mr. Washington says right before the bell rings. Everyone else is already packing their stuff, while Alex opens his eyes and looks up at the teacher groggily. “It's almost lunchtime.”

“Thanks,” Alex replies softly, getting up and getting his backpack before following Herc and Aaron's lead to the cafeteria. 

“Have you been sleeping at all?” Herc asks as he looks around the cafeteria. John is sitting in a different table, only a white kid with brown hair sitting next to him. 

Alex messes with the food on his plate before taking a bite. “Not really. It's fine. I don't sleep a lot, even before all this happened.”

Aaron also eats in silence, his gaze going to Alex from time to time. “I'm sorry,” he says. 

“It's not your fault,” he replies, almost mechanically.

“I'm not apologizing for the stuff with Lorenzo.”

“Oh. Then—”

Aaron nods, and reaches his hand out. “I'm sorry.”

Alex manages a weak smile and takes his hand, squeezing it, holding it. Aaron's hand is impossibly warm. “Apology accepted. I had a death wish bigger than my ego, anyway.”

Herc laughs and smiles at Alex. “I'm glad to see your comebacks are back.”

“They're on their way.” He eats a bit more. “It's, uh, difficult. Aaron, your life was also pretty rough…”

“Yeah. I remembered last year. Dream after dream until it clicked.”

“Sixteen?”

Aaron nods. 

Herc hums in interest. “I remembered when I was thirteen. It was so cool to me when we learned about the American Revolution. Like  _ hey, I was there _ !”

“It's… difficult. There's a few facts historians— a lot of them, they don't know. And it’s okay, I guess. I probably would've remembered in my twenties if it wasn't for all that.”

“Any facts not in history books?” Aaron asks, taking some gum from his pocket and starting to chew on it, not blowing bubbles. “I'll start; I had sex with men almost as much as with women. Had a thing for Jefferson before, y'know.”

“Really?” Alex exclaims, wide-eyed. 

“Yeah, really. What about you?”

Alex beckons him and Aaron hands him some gum, too. “Uhh, I blew John André.”

Herc gapes and whisper-yells, “No!”

“Yeah!” Alex whisper-yells back, giggling softly. “It was uh, the night before he got hanged. He was well-known as gay, and I was a fumbling bisexual, and before I knew it I had a dick in my mouth.”

“Absolutely wild,” Aaron says with no change in his tone whatsoever as he hands Herc some chocolate. 

* * *

“Are you adjusting fine?” Mr. Washington asks him as he hands him a cup of tea.

Alex nods and takes a sip. “Yes, Mr. President.”   
  
“Oh, stop that.”   
  
Alex snorts. “Absolutely not.”   
  
He hums and stirs his own tea before starting to take a few sips, eyes lidded as he drums his fingers on his desk. “No, really, are you alright?”   
  
“I’m better than when it happened.”   


“I’m glad to hear that.”   
  
“It’s a lot.”   
  
He hums in agreement. “It is. I remembered when I was nineteen. A lot of bad things happened back then.”

“French-Indian War. The revolution.”

Washington swallows and nods. “Yeah. Now it's better, safer, not so busy.”

“You like being a high school teacher?”

Washington doubts on that. “Yeah. It's alright.’

Alex hums and drops the subject. Silence spreads and Alex chews on his pen, face scrunched up as he thinks about his past life. A mess, a terrible mess, and this one isn't all too better. At least this time his mother is alive. 

“Does the binder I gave you fit?”

Alex looks up at the question, eyes lighting up. “Yeah! I'm not using it because the school day is too long for it. But I do on the weekends!”

Washington smiles. “I'm glad to hear that.” He puts a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I wish I had those tools when I was on your age.”   
  
“I imagine so. Was transitioning difficult?”   
  
Washington pulls away. “Yeah. My parents understood, though— most likely as I was a man in a past life, they thought it had to do with that. I think that even if I wasn’t a reincarnate, I would still be a man.”   
  
“It’s hard to know,” Alex says, standing up. Washington really is tall and intimidating— he wonders if he had a growth spurt while starting T. “It shapes us.”   
  
“It does.” He messes up Alex’s hair with his hand. “Go talk to your friends.”   
  
“Have you talked to Lorenzo?”   
  
“I oversee his detentions.”   
  
Alex hums. “I’ll take that as a no. Tell him he sucks.”   
  
Washington gives him an unimpressed brow raise, to then roll his eyes.

Alex laughs softly. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Washington.”   
  
“See you tomorrow, Alexander.”   
  
Alex gets out of the classroom.

Herc comes up to him and elbows him, making him squeak in surprise. “Is Washington your free therapist now?” he asks with a mischievous grin.

“Better than any straight cis therapist I could find to pay for,” Alex replies, shaking his head and chuckling a little.

Herc shrugs. “That’s fair. I’d die for a trans therapist. A nonbinary one would be damn cool too.”   
  
“I know, right—” Alex stops in his tracks when he sees John from the corner of his eye. He wraps a hand around Herc’s wrist and pulls at him, trying to get him into a different corridor.

“What is it?” Herc whispers, brows knitting together.

“Juan,” he hisses.

Herc rolls his eyes and smacks his arm lightly. “Stop being scared of him.”   
  
“I’m not scared of him, I hate his guts.”

John walks towards them, more or less ignoring him. His hands are buried deep in his pockets and he has earphones in one ear. He's talking to a junior with brown hair and crooked teeth; he feels familiar to Alex, but he can't pinpoint from where. 

“Juan,” Herc says. 

Alex elbows him, but it doesn't stop John from turning around. His brows knit and his face softens when he sees Alex. 

“Hercules.”

Herc raises a brow, looms over him by just a few inches. “How have you been?”   


“I’ve been fine. You?”   
  
The junior turns and looks at them quizzically before his face fills with distaste. 

“I’ve been great,” Herc tells him, stepping a little closer to him. “You need to apologize.”   


John stiffens a little, but his turned up nose and his look of annoyance doesn’t change. If anything, they sour more. “What for?”   
  
“For forcing Alex to remember.”   
  
“I don’t need to apologize—”   


Herc grips his arm, and the junior immediately shoves himself in between then. “Leave John alone.”   


He raises a brow. “And who are you?”   
  
The junior smiles. “You can call me George Frederick.”   
  
“You fucking sellout,” Alex growls at John, pulling Herc away from George and trying to lead him away. Herc follows his lead anyway, face scrunched up as they head to the cafeteria.

“He's buddy-buddy with King George the goddamn Third,” Herc mutters. 

“This is ridiculous.” He pauses and looks around as he heads to buy something. “You can kick his ass later,” he says, and Herc rolls his eyes and swats his arm.

* * *

“You fucking asshole!” Herc exclaims when John makes his way into the cafeteria the day afterward, grabbing him by his collar and lifting him up like a sack of potatoes.

“What’d I do now?” John squeaks, eyes wide and his lip trembling.

“Nothing,” Herc says. “Apart from not accepting you fucked up when you forced Alejandro to remember.”   
  
“I didn’t—”   


Herc punches him in the face, and he falls to the floor with a loud thump. People look over at them as John tries to fight back, his nose starting to bleed and bruises forming in Herc’s jaw.

“Can’t you stop being fucking prideful—” Herc mutters as Mr. Franklin steps in, wrapping his arms around Herc’s middle and pulling him off John. He doesn’t try to wriggle away, breathing hard and John panting, a black eye and a bloody nose and his knuckles bruising.

“To the nurse,” Mr. Franklin says, another teacher taking John and helping him get up and head to the nurse.

Aaron raises a brow and hands Alex some of his French fries. “Was this planned?” he asks as he starts eating his food.

“He was clearly thinking about it yesterday.”   
  
“What happened yesterday?”   
  
“Bitch turned up with King George on his shadow.”   
  
“What?!” Aaron exclaims, leaning closer to him. “You can’t be fuckin’ serious.”   
  
“Dude, trust me. That bitch introduced himself as George Frederick. Ratty-ass white kid, I knew he looked familiar.”   


Aaron laughs and shakes his head, looking at Alex with this stupid smile in his eyes. “That’s so damn much.” He pauses. “How long d’you think Herc’s gonna be suspended?”   


“I’m betting on four days,” he says, shrugging and taking a sip of Coke. “He’s gonna be back and hopefully John shuts the fuck up about makin’ me remember.”   
  
Aaron snorts and shrugs. “Hopefully.”   


The next week, Herc walks into AP US History looking as fine as ever, sitting next to Alex and Aaron. They’re talking about the American Revolution, so they don’t pay any mind — Mr. Washington knows they’re there for the easy A, after all.

“You’re such an idiot,” Alex says, leaning against him.

“I needed to kick his ass.”

“You really didn’t.” He rolls his eyes and swats his arm a little. “Still, you did. Did your parents chew you out?”   
  
“Of course they did.”   
  
“Yeah, I know, stupid question.”   
  
“I’m gonna be Alex’s gratefulness translator,” Aaron cuts in.

“Fuck off, Aaron!” he exclaims, kicking him a little.

He laughs. “No.” He turns to Herc and grins at him. “But he’s grateful. Juan needed to learn his damn lesson.”   
  
Herc shrugs. “It’s no problem, babe.”   
  
“That’s gay,” Alex says.

“That’s gay,” Aaron echoes.

Herc rolls his eyes and takes his notebook out, starting to draw on it.

Alex smiles as he watches him. Yeah, he can get used to being friends with Aaron and Herc, and he can get used to being a reincarnate.


End file.
